I was intrigued by the premise of this novel, in that Reverend Ames is writing a letter to his son with the knowledge he is dying. The book almost reads like a series of diary entries with entries from the current day and reflections from the past. The entries flipped forwards and backwards in time without any order and I felt like I was being jerked around without any firm destination.
I can see how so many readers were moved by the reflections of the Reverend, but I'm disappointed to say that the deeply profound moments were lost on me for some reason. I'm not quite sure whether it was the writing style, or the religious references or a disbelief that human beings reflect the way he does.
Nevertheless, I won't be recommending Gilead to anyone, and to be quite honest, I found it a chore to read.
My rating = **